


Killing Strangers

by doctor_jasley



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Organized Crime, Violence, very light torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To start a turf war between Drought City and Shade City, Mikey gets himself picked up by the person who runs DC. Only, not everyone agrees with this plan, so Brendon's called in to assess the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/gifts).



> For the snowflake challenge, I asked for prompts over at my DW. Turps answered with this: _Brendon/Mikey, or Brendon and Mikey -- this can't be happening._. 
> 
> So, what better way to get back into the writing game than going STRAIGHT to dark urban fantasy that contains little dialogue and LOADS of world-building.
> 
> The Mature rating is for the dark imagery/violence. Romantically, there's only one kiss at the end.
> 
> Also, I listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL17T3jT5eBH8X7NXD6or1FajYWKfnVeTA) mini youtube mix I made while I thought up what I wanted to write. 
> 
> Title comes from "Killing Strangers" by Marilyn Manson
> 
> *Self-edited because I really want to get this out.

Clarity is a drug best taken straight. Not mixed with lesser spirits. Mikey splutters and spits out the cloudy, pink liquor after it’s poured past his lips. Hopelessness is a sour after-taste at the back of his throat. He pulls at his restraints and is rewarded with nothing more than laughter in the gloom.

“Just get on with it.” 

More laughter is the only reply. 

Mikey’s getting tired of the hyenas. He wants the lion. He didn’t walk out into the jungles of Drought City to be tortured for nothing. He _needs_ that mane to condemn itself if he wants a proper war for Gee to take the city.

Not that Gerard _knows_ the plan. He’d never condone endangering Mikey. Not for anything. Not even to impress the guild that took them in so many years ago. 

Frank, and Ray, however, know what’s happening. They’re supposed to steer Gee in the right direction. They just need proof that lionheart is as traitorous and backstabbing as presumed.

Harming the brother of the Harbinger Guild’s heir apparent during a period of treated peace would be an act of war. It grants Gerard the power to seize the city as his own. A coronation gift on the eve of his promotion.

Maybe, then the whispers of assassination will finally suffocate. 

Frankie isn’t happy about this decision (Ray isn’t either), but neither he nor Ray have been successful at smothering the discontent of those in the guild who can’t accept Gerard as Death. There will always be those malcontent few who will always grate at two orphans rising from beligered step-children to legitimate members of the order, but Mikey can handle that, as long as the murder plots cease.

A show of ruthlessness and destruction should be effective.

+-+-+-+ 

The clock ticks. A steady beat. Illusions dance and breathe in tandem with the strokes of the minute hand.

Brendon smiles and slips black gloves on. He doesn’t look behind him to know that the show is convincing. It’s what Pete paid him for.

Make Mikey Way appear to be visiting the Snake King.

The execution of fifteen edge territory Harbinger pickpockets and enforcers in the past three months by Lionheart is enough to send the Guild to war with Drought City. There’s no need for the dark prince to use himself as bait. Not when Wentz sweet-talked Lionheart’s third in command into singing like a beautiful lark after Patrick’s newest apprentice vanished during a demonstration of Shade City’s Deft Fingers project.

Brendon’s pack is nearly weightless when he snags it on his way out of the surveillance hub. Gabe waves to him while dressed as his head of security. Some days it pays to be a master glamorist.

Not that Brendon’s knocking his own talents. He’s damn near a master of illusions himself. And knives. Bless Spencer and his mother-hen instincts to insure Brendon doesn’t die because some poor sap thinks they can sneak up on his ass.

Now, it’s time to return to moonlighting. There’s no spare moment to twiddle thumbs while humming _Mary Had a Little Lamb, Black as Night and Smart as Sin_. Why Pete thinks this is a good idea is beyond Brendon. He’s worked his ass off playing at double undercover. But, like fuck, is he turning down the chance to try out his new trinket, or spill a little blood for fun.

-+-+-+-

_**thud.** _

The next hit is refreshing after twenty-four hours of nothing but tainted booze and hyena cackles. 

“Lost, little lamb, you’re in the lion’s den, now.” Lionheart is an idiot if he thinks Mikey is nothing more than a fluffy bundle of bones and wool.

He bares his teeth. “Says the cat in a cardigan. Which is, like, the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve knitted better.”

The snick of a knife isn’t intimidating. Not when Frankie loves to play with switchblades for shits and giggles. The pain, however, is a bit more brighter than the last time Mikey cut himself with a blade by accident when the metal pierces through flesh to nick the back of the chair before withdrawing.

He’ll have trouble with his left shoulder until it’s healed. But it’s worth it to taste Lionheart’s anger flavor the musty air.

“Tell me everything you know, _little lamb_ , and maybe you’ll crawl out of this alive.” The dick has the nerve to punctuate his request with a tap to Mikey’s shoulder to keep him from getting woozy from blood loss by closing the stab wound. 

Nothing to fucking dim the pain. The bastard.

But that’s part of the thrill of the game. He’ll deal.

Mikey laughs. As if he’s _that_ easy. 

“Take off the gloves and maybe I will.” It’s an honest enough statement. His fingers are too warm in the thick leather. He’d rather spark some nasty nightmares in undeserving heads than stuck here, nothing more than a victim.

He enjoys mayhem too much to handle any more of this prattle and barely consistent agony. Maybe, this wasn’t the best thought-out plan. Not that Mikey’s even going to tell Ray or Frank. 

He’ll never live it down.

If Gerard doesn’t kill him first, for going off half-cocked.

“Shear him.” The words hang like fresh carcasses in a slaughterhouse. Lionheart walks out leaving his lackies to fight for first slice.

Oh, this is going to be a bitch.

Through the bickering and throaty growls a voice rises above the clamor. 

_”Mary had a little lamb. Wool ebony as night. Teeth as sharp as needles. It followed her everywhere. Nasty little shadow it was. Oh, how she loved it so.”_

The angry arguments cease in a ripple, from left to right as the room allows someone to claim their prize.

Mikey snaps his head in that direction. Fuck, he knows that voice. It’s Brendon. He’s been in the guild for a few months. A rising star with the enforcers. Frank’s taken a shining to him because the asshole can throw a blade, decently, for a noob. 

He’s going to be drawn and quartered for this treason. 

“You’ll burn for this.” Mikey whispers when Brendon leans into him to press sharpened steel against his neck.

“Promise you’ll make it sweet as death and we have a deal.” Brendon’s words are barely there. Lost in the laughter of the hyenas scattered throughout the basement.

Brendon’s right hand stays at his neck. His left wanders. Down Mikey’s left shoulder, numbing the throbbing pain, down his side. It doesn’t stop, not even after palming at Mikey’s hip. Then there’s a snick and the shackles around Mikey’s wrists and ankles drop the same time his fingers feel crisp cold air kiss them.

Gloves changed from leather to sand.

The knife is suddenly gone. A body drops like a heavy sack. Brendon giggles and climbs off of Mikey.

Lights that were previously off, click on. Shadows in the four corners, and cast by the stairs, shimmer before echoing the former joyous pearls of hyena happiness. Hollow people stand in their place. Hysterical laughter bouncing wall to wall.

An illusion. A fucking good one, too. Mikey’s impressed. But, not entirely enough to keep from wading into the fight that has erupted amongst the hyenas over who’s betrayed them. 

Brendon’s deadly. And doesn’t shut up.

_“Coat of coal. Smile like sin. Mary’s little lamb has a vicious bite.”_ He’s merciless. 

Mikey’s fingertips slide together, deliciously. A spark of orange flickers and flares to life. The nearest hyena is his goal. A floor swipe and he’s got a twig of a guy in his arms. Quickly, before the lick gutters, Mikey shoves the flame into the guy’s gaping mouth. 

With a tap, the grunt’s jaw snaps shut. His eyes roll back in his head, showing nothing but white. 

It’s a job done right.

“Dream of suffocating. Let, like, grave dirt crush you or the weight of the ocean drown you. Get creative.”

The guy drops like a flailing brick when Mikey moves to the next body crossing his path upward, toward the outside world.

_**BAM, BAM, BAM**_.

Dust rains down on them from the floorboards overhead. Brendon giggles around _“and, lo, Mary led her lamb to slaughter to kill the butchers.”_ He snatches Mikey’s hand, with no regard for the flame, except for a tiny wince at the heat.

Up the stairs they run. Giddy as naughty children after breaking a cupboard of good china for the hell of it. Mikey grips Brendon’s hard harder as they break out of the basement and into an open floor plan. 

Armed hyenas turn their heads. They’re ready for the battle outside, not the one behind them. The violence hums. Gerard came for him.

_“Let their blood sing the warning. Mary and her lamb bring the reckoning.”_

Brendon spins so Mikey’s got first strike at the nearest muscled goon, while he throws his enchanted knife at another’s chest.

Bodies fall.

“We need to vanish. Let Big brother have his own fun.”

And, like that, they’re rushing to the back exit, dropping bodies as they go. It’s exciting.

This isn’t happening. Mikey isn’t falling for Brendon. This isn’t _fucking_ happening. 

+-+-+-+ 

The streetlight is blinding when they stop for a breath under the prickly glow. The noise has died down. Brendon rubs at his eyes to relieve the tension. He really needs better contacts. The ones he pays for are shit after magical exertion.

“What the fuck was that?” Mikey shoves Brendon against the metal pole harder than is warranted. There’s heat gnawing at his shirt. “Why should I believe you’re not a snitchy little mole who, like, decided to turncoat at the last moment to save his skin?”

Ohhh, _yeah_ that. Brendon was expecting that question. He was. He just got distracted. A hot dude working with him, murdering evil people, Brendon’s fucking lucky he has any brain cells left. 

“Pete hired me out, months ago. Fucker thought you’d try some shit to get brother dearest up on the throne without a peep from the rabble. He was right to be worried.”

Mikey stares at him. And stares. Then stares some more.

Brendon’s about to break the silence, rudely, when Mikey does it for him.

“You’re part of Century.”

It’s not a question. Brendon smiles. He knows he looks demented and doesn’t care. “Hell yeah. Why not?”

Century’s the fucking high class mercenary organization everyone wants a piece of. If Pete and Patrick didn’t rule it with iron fists, it’d be fractured and way less efficient. 

No one wants that. A well-oiled machine gets better results.

“How long?” This time a question. One with edge to it.

“Three years.”

Mikey curses. “This can’t be fucking happening. You’re the one who’d put on the puppet shows from the shadows when Pete sicced bodyguards on me after we broke up?”

“Yep.” Brendon chipperly pops his p at the end. He enjoys the way it makes Mikey’s lips thin. “Don’t tell me you hated them. Seemed you _enjoyed_ them more than I did.”

Mikey drags Brendon into a kiss that’s bruising and full of dark promises. Brendon’s fine with that.

“You’re an asshole.”

Brendon grins against Mikey’s lips. It’s not a lie. But, hey, it’s snagged him a prince, so he’s not complaining.


End file.
